


Overwhelm

by parenthetical, Zooey_Glass



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform, wet!Dean, wet!Sam, wet!Winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-21
Updated: 2007-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parenthetical/pseuds/parenthetical, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zooey_Glass/pseuds/Zooey_Glass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em> Dean's grinning too, droplets of water caught bright in his eyelashes, and suddenly Sam's heart isn't pounding from fear any more.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Overwhelm

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Aynslee as a birthday gift, June 2007.

'Dude, you gotta be kidding me.'

Sam glances up before returning his attention to the alarm system. 'What? Someone coming?'

'The alarm?' Dean says, sounding half-amused and half-disgusted. 'You're seriously going to keep us standing out here in the cold while you fiddle with this shitty piece of crap? Dude, if you want to brush up on your skills that bad, we'll go find you an alarm worth disabling.'

'We've got to start being more careful, Dean,' Sam reminds him, fiddling with the alarm. The gloves he's wearing are only slowing him down a little.

'Like the cops are gonna get off their asses quick enough to catch us here,' Dean grouses. 'Hell, it takes an elephant to trip those things anyway. I never bothered about the alarms all those times I broke into the high school with Cissy Williams.' He leers at Sam.

Sam gives him a dirty look in return. 'Maybe that's just because you were so damn quick,' he says pointedly. 'Dealing with this spirit might take us a little bit longer.'

'Dude!' Dean says, mock-wounded. Then he looks Sam up and down suggestively, and leans forward. 'I've never had any complaints about my... speed.' His voice dips low and sexy, and Sam has to remind himself that they're here to investigate a rogue spirit, not relive Dean's high school memories.

Focusing on the alarm again takes an effort of willpower, but it's almost... _There _. He straightens and strips the gloves off, tucking them into a pocket. 'OK, quit whining. Let's go.'

Inside, the school is dark and quiet, and their footsteps echo quietly as they move along the corridor. Sam takes a moment to double-check their position on the nearest floor plan, then takes a right. Dean stays beside him, close enough for their shoulders to brush together.

No matter how many times they do it, Sam always feels a little weird about breaking into a high school. The hallways seem way too empty, with echoing footsteps recalling the guilty feeling of being out of class. Not that that had ever bothered _Dean _.

Sam slows enough to jostle up against his brother, letting himself soak up the warm, solid heat of Dean's body. He remembers all the tales Dean used to tell him about what he got up to in high school after hours, and thinks maybe he _would _ like to help relive a few of Dean's memories.

He wonders just how quickly they can deal with this spirit.

Dean chuckles low in his throat, evidently thinking along the same lines. Then he breaks off, shifting from relaxed to wary, his stance suddenly all business. Sam catches sight of the chink of light up ahead at the same moment, and moves silently forward, hand going to his gun.

They advance cautiously towards the room where the light is coming from, and Sam isn't surprised to see that the number on the door matches the one they've been looking for. When they flatten themselves against the wall on either side of the door and angle to look in through the glass, he's even less surprised to find that Dean's not the only kid ever to break into high school after hours. Spirits aren't known for smoking pot, as a rule.

'Fucking _hell _,' Dean hisses, and Sam's taken aback by the anger in his voice. He's not exactly pleased about this turn of events himself - they're almost certain that whatever's anchoring this spirit here is hidden in this room, and if they have to clear these kids out then their chance of a quick job is pretty much shot - but it's rare for Dean to sound that pissed about _anything _.

He squints into the room again. There's not much light - the kids have set up a few candles rather than turn on the strip lights - and it takes him a moment to make out the details. Then he sees what the kids are sitting around: a ouija board. They're all laughing, stoned and loose-limbed, and one of them is reading something out of a disturbingly familiar little book. _Fucking hell _is right.

'Goddamn idiots,' Dean grinds out. 'How the hell did they get their hands on something like that?'

Sam shrugs in resignation. The book could have come from a grandparent, or been picked up from Goodwill or a thousand other random places. What's important is that these kids clearly have no clue that what they're reading from is genuine lore, the real deal. 'Let's break this up,' he says quietly to Dean, and readies himself to burst into the room.

His hand's on the door handle when he feels Dean tense beside him, and looks across the room to see the pale figure of the ghost appearing behind the kids. It's a young girl, about the same age as the living, breathing one currently sharing a joint with one of the guys, but dressed in the fashion of fifty years back. Ah, _shit _. No time to do this the easy way.

Sam slams the door open, bent on taking care of this before it can escalate. It bangs against the wall and the kids yelp in panic. Beneath their noise he hears a faint _whoosh _ and then flames are shooting up everywhere, lighting up the whole room, way too many for it to just be the candles. Sam's momentarily blinded, negative images dark against the brightness across his vision.

He blinks hard, keeping his gun high and steady, and makes out the source of the flames. Predictably, the kids have hauled out a couple of bunsen burners and hooked them up to the gas, setting the flames full and high the way you're never allowed to in chem class. But the way the gas is leaping up now goes way beyond unsafe lab practices.

There's screaming going on now, as the kids seem to realise that things aren't happening the way they expected, with a more deadly kind of smoke rapidly filling the room. They're jumping to their feet, trying to backpedal away from the ghost without moving into the flames. It's probably a measure of how freaked out the kids are that running towards Dean and him is the least frightening option, despite the shotguns in their hands and the furious expression on Dean's face.

'Out!' Dean yells. 'Get the hell out of here!'

'The door, you idiots!' Sam shouts, moving further into the room and trying to herd the panicking kids in the right direction without taking his eyes off the ghost. He sees her reach out towards one of the boys, about to close pale fingers around the kid's wrist, and lets off his shotgun. The rock salt hits before she can get her hands on the guy, and she flies apart, scattering with the grains of salt.

"Go, go, go!" Dean yells, sparing one hand to shove a kid towards the door. Sam is aware of the screaming still going on and the sound of footsteps pounding out the door and down the corridor, but most of his attention is on monitoring the room, watching for the ghost to rematerialise. And keeping a sharp eye on the flames, which are spreading fast. He lunges for the gas valve the nearest bunsen burner is hooked up to, thinking to get rid of the main source of fuel, but when he twists it it won't move, stuck like it's been rusted open for years. He knows that logically that's impossible, that the school would have burnt down long ago. Which means that something is keeping him from turning the valve.

The thought has no sooner crossed his mind than he hears a sound that makes him look up - just in time to see all the other valves turning too. Opening. _Great _.

Sam's not exactly sure about the reasons for this haunting - they haven't been able to find many details, other than the unwelcome news that the girl was cremated - but however she died, it's certainly given her a grudge. He's torn between searching for whatever's keeping her here and locating the main shut-off valve for the gas. The latter option appeals more, because he'd _really _like not to explode, but if it's occurred to her to jam that open too, then they're screwed. He starts across the room towards where the valve should be, trusting that Dean will cover the other side of things, but swings around when he hears Dean's gun go off, twice in quick succession, while his brother swears.

The ghost is back, lunging at Dean, her face twisting unnaturally. Sam is about to raise his own gun, but Dean has already reloaded and snaps off another shot. The spirit shreds apart again, before re-forming slightly further away, close to one of the gas valves. Flames spin up around her, recalling Sam to his plan, even as Dean yells, "Do it, Sam!"

He makes it to the shut-off valve, back by the teacher's desk, and grabs hold of it. For a second it resists, and he thinks the spirit's jammed it open as well, but then it starts to move. He wrenches it closed and spins back round, already raising his gun.

She's got Dean backed up against one of the lab stations, her fingers clawing into him. Sam snarls wordlessly in frustration - at this angle he doesn't dare shoot, because he's as likely to hit Dean as not, and he knows what a bitch rock salt is.

"Dean!" he yells, moving forward as fast as he can.

"Crazy... fucking... bitch," Dean bites out, and somehow manages to get his shotgun up far enough to blast rock salt through her, shattering her again.

The ghost re-forms right in front of Sam, but before he can even react, she's turning away, suddenly distracted. Sam follows her gaze, sees the way the flames are now licking up around the radiator under the window.

She screams, and _shifts _ to the radiator in the disconcerting, disjointed way of spirits. Sam stares as she scrabbles desperately at the radiator case, pulling out some smouldering pieces of paper - folded notes, by the look of them, burning to ash even as she tries to rescue them. He has a sudden vision of this girl passing notes in class, tucking them away there where they wouldn't be seen. Notes from whoever killed her, maybe...

Just as the thought forms in his mind, he sees flames blossom out on her.

She's screaming again, desperate, keening, as the fire spreads across her, licking up her hair, blazing down her chest. Sam watches, aware of Dean moving to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder. He's in no doubt now about what's been anchoring the spirit here. He's still tense as he watches her flicker and struggle, afraid that she might lash out at them again when she realises she's being destroyed, but there's no need. She just clutches her notes to her frantically, and though the flames aren't spreading from the burning paper, she burns with them. When the final piece crumbles, she does too, disintegrating into nothing but ashes fluttering down to the floor.

Sam's heart's still pounding, because _shit _. That was just a little too close for comfort. He stands there for a moment, breathing hard, watching the flames die down around the room and feeling the reassuring heat of Dean pressed against his shoulder. A last wave of smoke rises up, and - belatedly - the sprinklers start up, raining down blessedly cool water onto fire-scorched skin. Sam starts to laugh, spreading his arms out in the water like a little kid, and turns to his brother. Dean's grinning too, droplets of water caught bright in his eyelashes, and suddenly Sam's heart isn't pounding from fear any more.

He doesn't stop to think, doesn't even realise he's moving in the midst of the _want _ that overtakes him, just slams into his brother and pins him against the wall.

Dean goes with it, grinding up against Sam and kissing him hard. Then his muscles bunch and tense and he's swinging them back round, slamming Sam against the wall and fucking his tongue into his mouth.

Sam kisses back, hot and hungry, feeling the water from the sprinklers settle in his hair, trickle down the back of his neck, making him tip his head back with a gasp. Dean's mouth slides down to his neck instead, biting and sucking, tracing the line of his throat.

They shift and grapple, pushing against each other in a way that's not about dominance but about the sudden urgent need for more, _now _, scrabbling at layers of clothes to get at the skin underneath. Dean tugs hard at Sam's overshirt, and Sam feels buttons give way and hears something rip.

Dean succeeds in getting Sam's t-shirt off as well and stills, looking up into Sam's face. 'You got burnt,' he says, voice low and shot.

Sam blinks, feeling water spill from his eyelashes as he does so. 'I did?'

Dean leans up and presses his mouth to a spot on Sam's cheek, and Sam can feel the burn now, hot under Dean's lips. For a moment it's almost chaste, like a sense-memory of Dean kissing his hurts better when he was a child, but then Dean's lips part and his tongue sweeps out, and Sam shudders as the heat of the burn licks right through him.

Dean pulls back and Sam opens eyes he hadn't realised had closed, grabbing Dean's shoulders in instinctive protest, but Dean just smirks at him, slow and bright, and drops to his knees in one swift movement.

He tugs at the button on Sam's jeans and rips them open, freeing Sam's cock, and _oh god _, water rains down from the sprinklers onto hot skin.

Sam hisses in a breath, and then Dean's mouth is closing around him, the slick, wet warmth of his tongue licking away the cold droplets of water. He stares down at Dean, whose eyes are warm and intent on his own, and tangles his right hand in Dean's wet hair, just holding on. Dean stares back for a moment, then closes his eyes and bends his head, sliding his mouth further down Sam's cock.

Sam hears himself groan, but the sound seems far away; suddenly he feels like he's burning up, heat flushing all the way through him as Dean takes him deeper. He tilts his head back to let the cold water from the sprinklers wash across his face, trickling into his mouth and down his neck.

Part of him wants to thrust up into Dean's mouth, but he's so strung out on the sensation, seconds dragging out long and slow and sweet, that it's enough just to let it happen. Dean swirls his tongue across the head of Sam's cock, fluttering at the v of skin there, and Sam doesn't even know how he's standing up now. He could be floating, for all he knows - all the feeling in his body is concentrated on that one spot. He lets out another moan, and feels rather than hears Dean moan in return, breath puffing hot against skin.

His head tips back down without him consciously willing it, suddenly too heavy for his neck to support, and the sight of Dean on his knees, mouth wrapped around him, eyes shut and face blissed out, steals his breath away. His hips jerk forward involuntarily, and Dean _whimpers _ around his cock, the sound vibrating through Sam. It's almost too much.

And then suddenly it's not enough.

He fists his hand in Dean's collar and yanks his brother to his feet, grabbing his hip to steady him as Dean sways dangerously against him. Sam can't suppress the sudden rush of satisfaction when Dean's eyes fly open; he looks dazed, pupils blown, as he whimpers faintly in protest. His lips are swollen and glistening, and Sam drags him close, crushing his mouth against his own.

He works at Dean's jeans with his other hand, struggling to get the button free from the wet denim. Dean doesn't make it any easier, twisting and pushing against Sam's hand in his urgency. Finally the button pops free, and Sam works his hand in to grab Dean's cock before he's even freed it from Dean's pants. His brother moans against his lips, hoarse and desperate, and Sam grins into the kiss, tightening his grip and enjoying the way Dean shudders and thrusts against him.

Dean grabs at Sam's ass, clawing at bare skin in his urgency to pull Sam closer, feel more. Sam's cock bumps up against Dean's belly and he fucks against the soft skin, then shifts, letting himself slide up next to Dean's cock.

Dean whimpers, and gasps out, 'C'mon, Sammy, please,' bucking up hard against him.

Sam shifts his hand to wrap around them both, moving it faster, enjoying the faint whine as Dean drags in a sharp breath and releases it shakily. He suspects he may be making a few embarrassing sounds himself, but he can hear nothing but Dean, feel nothing but his brother against him and the water pouring down over them.

He feels Dean's knees start to buckle and tightens an arm around his waist, holding him up, pressed against him. Dean moans again, his face buried in Sam's neck, and then he's coming apart, breath whining high in his throat as he jerks and pulses in Sam's hand.

Sam _growls _ and moves faster, pumping his fist slick across his own cock, rubbing it up harder against Dean's. Dean's whole body _shudders _ and he whimpers, 'Sam, Sammy, please, Sam,' his head falling heavy against Sam's shoulder.

Sam can resist a lot of things, but he's always been powerless in the face of Dean begging _please _. 'Fuck,' he whispers, 'fuck, _Dean _ -' and then he's coming, shaking, only the weight of Dean's body against him holding him up against the wall. They cling together, their breathing loud in Sam's ears, and eventually Dean pulls away a little and tips his face up to look at him. Dean smiles, a relaxed, open smile that Sam only ever gets to see after sex, and presses his lips softly to Sam's.

Sam kisses him back for a few seconds, gentle now, and rubs his hand down Dean's spine. The cold wetness of Dean's shirt brings him back down to reality, and he realises they're both standing there with their pants down, bellies sticky, and water still dripping from the sprinklers.

Except it's _dripping _now, not pouring, and he's suddenly aware of the sound of fire sirens. Dean's eyes snap back to his in sudden realisation.

' _Shit _,' Sam says, yanking his pants up and grabbing his wet shirt from the floor.

Dean tucks himself back into his jeans and grabs their shotguns from the table where they're still lying, while Sam struggles into the soaking cotton. The sirens have stopped now, and Sam can hear doors banging and voices coming up the hallway. He panics for a moment, and then Dean says, 'We're on the ground floor, dumbass,' and jerks his head towards the window.

They drag it open and scramble out, and Sam turns to give the room a last look over, check they haven't left anything incriminating behind. The place is a wreck - everything's charred and soggy, the remains of the kids' ill-fated little ritual toppled left and right from when they fled. Sam's eyes travel from the scattered joints to the buttons strewn on the floor where he and Dean were standing, and he begins to laugh. As he turns back to Dean, his brother starts laughing too, doubled over and gasping for breath.

The sound of approaching activity recalls Sam to himself, and he grabs Dean's arm and half-drags him away. Dean is still laughing under his breath so hard that Sam has to help hold him up. They're no sooner around the corner when Sam snorts, unable to hold back his own laughter any longer. They fall against the side of the building and lean there together for a minute, until they regain enough control to support each other as they make a break for the car, their laughter drifting behind them as they run.


End file.
